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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26504269">hello, welcome home (isn't it lovely, all alone?)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WreakingHavok/pseuds/WreakingHavok'>WreakingHavok</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream Team - Fandom, Sleepy Bois Inc.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Antarctic Empire, Church Prime, Family Shipped To You By Eret, Found Family, Gen, I wrote this a while ago, Letters, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Traitor eret, minus....minus Tommy, what a cast. okay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:14:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,833</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26504269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WreakingHavok/pseuds/WreakingHavok</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil wants to argue. He wants to tell him that no one should be here, that he’s no coward who turned tail and ran out of fear. He wants to say that there is nothing in the Antarctic Circle, that the loneliness is sometimes more than even he can bear, that the burden of it all is not meant for children. </p><p>He doesn’t. He lives in the ruins of a city torn apart by war. He’s seen what it does to adults, to Eret, to this captain and his crew. He sees what it’s already done to these children.</p><p>“I’ve told them you can keep them safe,” the green-eyed captain says finally. He turns, gestures for Bad to follow him, looks back and through Phil so easily it hurts. “Don’t make me a liar.”</p><p>What can he do but agree? </p><p>~</p><p>Eret sends Wilbur and Technoblade to Antarctica, and Phil reads letters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eret &amp; Floris | Fundy, No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson &amp; Technoblade, Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>339</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hello, welcome home (isn't it lovely, all alone?)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the Antarctic Circle, there is nothing.</p><p>It’s always been this way, even back when the stars still shone on a populated city. Nothing grows, nothing lives, nothing thrives. The only noise, the howling blizzard, the only movement, shifting glaciers. This is how it is. This is how it will always be.</p><p>
  <i>Enter Phil, stage left.</i>
</p><p>~</p><p>It’s the middle of the day when he moors his practically wrecked ship against the wilting remains of a dock; he looks up and up and up at the castle that once held everything, once the jewel of the South Pole.</p><p>No one lives there, now. The Antarctic Empire is just another bullet on the list of kingdoms reduced to rubble, walls crumbled like their Queen before them. He wonders if she still lives, somewhere, shrouded in regret, or maybe sparking with vengeance -</p><p>And then he does not wonder again. There are more important things to think about.</p><p>He rebuilds what he can, using what few tools he’d carted from home. His hands scrape on unforgiving rock, the snow biting into clothes not meant for weather like this, but he works and he works and he doesn’t stop, no matter how frozen his joints at the end of the day. He is not old, far from it. His years barely number two decades, but the ice tries to claim his life as though he’s lived far more than his share.</p><p>He does not let it. He survives. </p><p>He clogs up the eroded holes in the walls, makes windows out of ice, eats his meager rations cautiously. He keeps the snow and wind outside and stacks the defenses high enough to keep himself safe. The castle will never stand at its magnificent height again, but inside, he salvages libraries and cleans up chambers left in such a hurry he can almost imagine the bedsheets are still warm, and it feels like plenty of a victory to sit and read by the light of the moon.</p><p>It gets cold at night and stays cold all day in his stone realm, so he gathers furs from the monstrous creatures outside and burns the wreckage of his ship to keep himself from freezing. He can’t go back now, even if he wanted to. He is alone. He curls his fingers around a bow-arm that still aches and reminds himself that this is what he wanted.</p><p>A week passes, or maybe two, or maybe three. It’s hard to tell - the days seem to work differently down here - but eventually he spots the sign he’d been waiting for.</p><p>True to his word as always, though Phil would be lying if he said he hadn’t started to doubt, Eret has sent him a ship. </p><p>Its captain is a man with no face, a blank slate tied over eyes and nose, wry grin shining out from under his hood. Phil practically runs to meet him on the docks. He thinks he must look like a madman, all lonely eyes and polar bear fur draped around him like a cape, but no one on his sparse crew bats an eye. Phil is grateful for that.</p><p>Food is unloaded by the crate, along with a few sets of clothes and tools and lumber. Phil and a kind, hooded, unusually strong crew member carry it all up the drawbridge and into his storehouse. The gnawing in Phil’s stomach twists at the prospect of finally going away. </p><p>He cannot thank them enough.</p><p>“Risky journey, this is,” calls the first officer after the last of the cargo is secure, and the lilt of his words sounds like home, and Phil almost winces, “what with the icebergs and storms. What can you give us to make it worth it?”</p><p>“A chestful of metals and gems, once a month,” he says. “How’s that?”</p><p>“For Prime’s sake,” claps the third crew member gleefully, wild hair barely held out of his face by a strip of cloth. “Sounds plenty good enough, jolly old chap.”</p><p>The first officer rolls his eyes at his friend’s mockery. The captain laughs, flashing shark teeth, and Phil sends them off with a box full of Queen Nihachu’s finest treasures. There is enough in her vaults to pay them for decades. </p><p>What use has she for them now? </p><p>Not for the first time, he thinks about the past, and that night the fading memory of candlelight and laughter haunts the stone halls as he sleeps. </p><p>In the Antarctic Circle, there is nothing. No people, no life, no warmth. No one steps foot on its icy shores with any intent to call it home.</p><p>And that’s why he came here, isn’t it? To be alone, to be safe? After all, the captain and his crew arrive more and more battle-worn every delivery. They tell him of nations colliding, they tell him war is erupting along the coastline of Auchtermus, they say Radius has allied with Hypnosia yet again.</p><p>Phil takes it in grimly. He tells them they’re welcome here, should they ever need rest. They smile at him, and he sees it in their eyes - they tell him their home is elsewhere. He understands. </p><p>He lets them go, each time a little more worried that they won’t come back.</p><p>A small price to pay for staying alive. No one will risk their fleet on the rocks to conquer an already fallen kingdom. He talks to himself and his nights are long, but at least he’s alone, and at least the war that haunts his dreams is an ocean away.</p><p>~</p><p>
  <i>and then one day, the captain walks off his ship with his mask half blown off, one green eye shining like the sparkling ice around them. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>and then one day, he brings so much more than just Eret’s cargo and Phil’s world turns on its heel and spins him dizzy.</i>
</p><p>~</p><p>“Bring them out, Bad,” the captain calls, ignoring Phil’s hum of confusion. He’s about to say that the crates have all been offloaded when the hooded crewmate appears on the gangplank. </p><p>He holds the arms of two children, both of whom cannot be more than ten years of age. One of them shivers in the cold. Bad gently pulls them further down the plank, towards Phil.</p><p>Phil can’t move. “Who are they?”</p><p>The captain purses his lips. “The consequences of war.”</p><p>The smaller of the two starts to struggle against Bad’s grip on his arm. The dock is coated in invisible ice, Phil knows, and one wrong step could send all three of them into the freezing water. </p><p>“Be careful,” he calls. “The dock is slippery, so try not to fall, yeah?”</p><p>Wide eyes stare at him from under a fringe of pink hair, and Phil sees fire hot enough to melt the ground they stand on, and for a moment he thinks this child would sooner throw himself into the sea than take an order from a stranger.</p><p>The eyes of a soldier in the face of a child. Phil feels his gut twist.</p><p>The taller child reaches a hand across Bad to settle on his shoulder. He says something inaudible, carried away by the wind, but it manages to still the other. Phil watches them continue towards him, looking for all the world like it’s the longest walk of their lives. </p><p>“Why did you bring them here?” he asks. “This is no place for a child.”</p><p>“My name,” the captain starts, and Phil really should jump on this chance after weeks of anonymity, but he knows the dangers that come with knowledge. </p><p>“I don’t need to know,” Phil says, grabs him by the shoulders. The man startles, but doesn’t fight. “Why did you bring them here?”</p><p>“You offered us a haven,” he says. It’s almost an accusation. “Does your offer not stand, anymore?”</p><p>“It does,” Phil says, “but to you, for you, not for children. They need a real home, a place to grow and explore -“</p><p>“There is a letter from Eret,” he says, shoving Phil away. He notes the use of Alastair’s nickname, the familiarity leaving him uneasy. “It’s inside the younger’s coat pocket.”</p><p>“You brought them here on Eret’s order?”</p><p>“<i>We</i> brought them here,” the captain says, the twist of his lips a distant smirk, “because their homes have abandoned them. Because the people who are meant to be raising them are twisting them into pawns. If they’d stayed, they’d be dead in weeks.”</p><p>The children have reached the end of the dock, and Phil takes them in, fully. They’re trembling, faces dirty, clothes ripped. They look at him as though he’s the high ground in the flood, the middle of the hurricane.</p><p>“You’ve been gone,” the captain says. “The war is getting worse, even worse than when you left. I told him you wouldn’t understand.”</p><p>Phil wants to argue. He wants to tell him that no one should be here, that he’s no coward who turned tail and ran out of fear. He wants to say that there is nothing in the Arctic Circle, that the loneliness is sometimes more than even he can bear, that the burden of it all is not meant for children. </p><p>He doesn’t. He lives in the ruins of a city torn apart by war. He’s seen what it does to adults, to Eret, to this man and his crew. He sees what it’s already done to these children.</p><p>“I’ve told them you can keep them safe,” the green-eyed captain says finally. He turns, gestures for Bad to follow him, looks back and through Phil so easily it hurts. “Don’t make me a liar.”</p><p>What can he do but agree? </p><p>The setting sun sees Phil standing with a hand resting on each child’s shoulder, and the ship sails over the horizon and out of sight.</p><p>~</p><p>
  <i>Dearest Phil,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Your recent letter caught me at an inopportune time. I apologize for the wait. I am sending this as of the seventh month in the capable hands of my captain, who assures me you are getting along quite nicely. How’s the weather? I miss you.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I presume you are not aware of the politics surrounding our home. I accept the responsibility of catching you up to speed. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>L’manberg has not yet fallen to the surrounding kingdom, though I feel the time for its end is almost upon us. I am grateful, however selfishly, that you are not here to watch it burn. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>You asked about my welfare - I am doing just fine. I have made friends in some powerful places. I have the chance to better our people’s lives. I hope that in your ignorance, you are proud of all I have accomplished.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>We found these children in the aftermath of a violent dispute over territory. Civilians of both sides were, unfortunately, involved. Fundy discovered them in the rubble and upon any inability to find their proper home, insisted I find them a place where they could be kept safe. You know our leader - he mourns often for the children we displace, the lives ruined by our seemingly endless conflict. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>I do not. I prefer to take action. This war has gone on long enough. Perhaps, once it is all over, you will come home.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Take care of them, Phil - the elder is from L’manberg territory, the younger born and raised in Hypnosia, though neither are old enough to know why that matters. I beg you, raise them to realize it does not. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>I passed on your letter to Fundy. He may be longer in responding than I. Don’t worry. Running a state such as L’manberg is taxing, but he is handling it well.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I’ve sent adequate supplies for the children. I do not plan on ceasing your exports anytime soon. Keep in touch. If you require anything, just let me know. I am doing everything in my power (save using L’manberg’s treasury! Though that is not to say I haven’t tried.) to ensure your survival. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>You are important to me. Remember, Phil, that I have never lied about my affections. Remember that I have only ever wanted what is best for our people. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Until we meet again.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Your friend and confidant,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>A. T’eret</i>
</p><p>~</p><p>“Who are you?”</p><p>Phil turns, two glasses of warmed milk in hand. The children are huddled side by side next to the fire, Phil’s largest fur draped around their shoulders. “My name is Phil.”</p><p>The one dressed in yellow squints. “You sound like me.”</p><p>“We share the same birthplace,” Phil nods, walking over to sit in front of them. He holds the cups out, a gesture of peace. “Do you have names?”</p><p>“Techno,” pipes the pink-haired one, grabbing the glass from Phil so quickly it almost spills. “That’s Wilbur.”</p><p>“You’re from home?” Wilbur asks, hesitantly taking his cup and cradling it close to his chest.</p><p>Phil nods. “Yes, though I haven’t been there for a few months.”</p><p>“Are you going to take me back?” Techno stills at the question, asked innocently enough, but it’s almost heavier than Phil can handle. </p><p>They both look expectantly at him. They’re so young.</p><p>“No,” Phil says, an awful feeling creeping into his veins. He hopes they can see it on his face, that this is not malice, that it’s just what he has to do, that they’re better off here than they ever would be back there. “I’m sorry, but this is your home now.”</p><p>Wilbur’s eyes are decades older than they should be. “Why?”</p><p>Because your home is being ripped to shreds. Because you will grow up too fast for a life too short. Because you will become a tired and worn soldier, because you will never sleep through the night after long enough, because you’ll become like me -</p><p>“It’s better here,” he decides on saying. He smiles. The children do not mirror him.</p><p>He knows they’re smarter than they’re letting on. Their guarded posture screams of a past marked by pain and fear.</p><p>“I won’t hurt you,” he promises. “You’ll be safe here. You’ll be happy.”</p><p>A polar bear roars somewhere in the distance. Techno’s small hands fidget at his sides, dancing across a phantom sword handle. “What’s out there?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Phil reassures, and reaches to pull the blanket further over his shoulders. “How about you finish your drink and we find you a place to sleep?”</p><p>Techno nods, but isn’t convinced. Wilbur’s bony arm snakes protectively around his shoulders. </p><p>Phil doesn’t know if he’s cut out for this.</p><p>~</p><p>
  <i>and he built them a castle before he even knew their names, a cage of towers and walls to protect them.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>and they were children, to him, always children. looking back, he supposes he cannot fault them for growing up anyway.</i>
</p><p>~</p><p>
  <i>Phil,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I write this letter as I hide underground. I do not know if it will ever reach you. It does not hurt to try. I fear you are the only one left to reach.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Why didn’t you tell me? I was left to think you’d vanished. I only recently discovered you were, in fact, alive and well. I can understand your secrecy, but still - I wish you had told me. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>I have recently learned a few other things I think you should know. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Number one: </i>
</p><p>
  <i>The leader of Hypnosia, the notoriously absent, anonymous, and unnamed man, is more than a legend after all. He made a personal visit to our Capitol Building with his advisors. His spokesperson burned it to the ground. A story for later, when and if I have a later.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I still don’t know their names. They wore disguises. If they walked by me on the street, I wouldn’t know. The thought terrifies me.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Number two:</i>
</p><p>
  <i>T’eret is no longer one of us, though he is not dead. He is the reason I am underground, the reason my advisor is now second in command in his place. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>He betrayed us to Hypnosia. He brought them upon us, led them into our headquarters, helped them plant bombs around our city. I did not have time to count the casualties. The walls are crumbling at the seams.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>When he told me you were alive, he assured me you didn’t know. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>But who can you believe, these days?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Number three: </i>
</p><p>
  <i>The fight is not over, but do not come home. I know you didn’t plan to, but I know you, and your heart will be troubled by this. Perhaps, in a way, you are the new L’manberg. Perhaps, soon, you will be all that remains.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I write this merely hoping it will ever reach you. The truth is that I don’t know where you are, much less how to get this letter outside of Hypnosia’s borders. The truth is that I am forced underground, the truth is that we are alone, and Phil, I know in my heart you will not read this in time. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Please know that I am sorry. Please know that you are all we have.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But we will win. We have to win. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>I will not let them win.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Your friend and brother,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>F. N’dee, President of L’manberg</i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>May be continued, may not! Really just a worldbuilding piece I suppose :]</p></blockquote></div></div>
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